... but I stopped. Now I'm a dad, and may blog again...

Monday, May 14, 2012

592: ulv bko;gfn everyj dadtj

Can I write with my feet? Let's see:

7yuujuujyefkmee dwhyhjdce kjjefjs a1qi mwgtbgibngfv

The answer is no. Especially as they weren't my feet. Could you tell? They were the feet of that cute little woman who sits next to me on the sofa, making me do things and usurping the laptop's place on my knee with her legs. Wiggling about the place and asking for tea. I think I'll marry her. But not until I try typing with my toes. Here goes, typing with my toes:

kim vjgtyudpo swkigjnh mny glodexs aznd xlo kimnfvgv z\abgdfsg njlobn

Translating||||||........ Translation: I'm typing with my toes and I'm doing a great job. Now I've got two kinds of foot germs all over the keyboard. Want to contribute? Send a sample to the usual address.

If this was a hundred years ago this kind of nonsense would make me a visionary of Modernist fiction and a hundred years in the future unfortunate students of the humanities would have this crap forced upon them. Or it wouldn't. Honestly there's no way of knowing for sure either way. Unless we had a time machine. Which incidentally if I had one -after I'd proved the historical inaccuracy of the world's major religions, seen a real velociraptor squawking around like a big turkey, and discovered exactly how the first humans to settle the Americas made it there- I would have a go at controlling the thing with my feet.

We might arrive at the restaurant at the end of the universe, suffocate on an early Earth in its oxygen-empty atmosphere, expand to a hundred billion light years across in the initial milliseconds of the big bang, or have to evade the amorous advances of my 1950s small town American teenage mom. All of these outcomes are OK with me on the condition that none involve being preyed upon by an unstoppable cyborg. I don't think I could handle that.

Conclusion: Unless I lose the use of both my arms, there will be no more foot blogging. Except, of course, I run out of ideas again. And if Rufus ever shows up with one of those hi-tech phone booths I'll be dialling with my fingers for at least the first few thousand years.

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